


we can dance in slow motion

by joppers



Series: MCU Kink Bingo 2018 [2]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Post-Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018), Pre-midcredits scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 09:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16552889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joppers/pseuds/joppers
Summary: The thing Janet had missed most, when she thought about it, had been music.





	we can dance in slow motion

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Janet/Hank, but I've loved them for so long and Michelle as Janet truly owns my heart. AMATW was everything I ever wanted out of the Ant-Man sequel and I can't wait to see more of Janet in A4. This is set post-movie but pre-midcredits scene. Fills the square 'music' for my bingo card! Title from Rhythm of Love by Plain White T's.

There are things she hadn’t talked enough about with Hank when she first returned from the quantum realm- hadn’t thought enough about, until they’re on the beach and time moves like thick molasses through her fingers once more; forward and down instead of sideways and all around her like tornados.  The decades they’d been apart had seemed to disappear when she’d seen his face again; the wrinkles and gray hair had melted into that youthful visage she’d remembered clear as day every moment she was gone, love pulsing in her chest as the impossible dream she’d clung to blossomed into reality.

But the thing she’d forgotten about, alone by herself with only tardigrades and loneliness and the hope of someday reuniting with her husband and daughter for company- was how wonderful _sound_ was. Years without ocean waves or music or the sound of Hank’s familiar heartbeat had unknowingly piled onto her shoulders until she felt herself drowning under the weight of missing them. She’d adjusted to the quantum realm so much, she’d hardly realized it until the shock of sound that came from her husband’s voice jolted her back to reality.

The first night, Janet asks if they can sleep on the beach, under the cover of stars and with the sea crashing at their feet.  Hank agrees easily, content simply to be where she is once more, and they curl themselves up on a blanket on the sand, far enough from the tide. Wind rustled the trees, birds called softly from their branches, and she settled further into the cacophony of noise with delight, palm next to her ear over Hank’s heart.

“Do you know what I missed most? Now that I’m here and I have you and Hope back?” she asks quietly once they’re settled. Hank grunts, waiting, and Janet watches the way the moonlight dances over the crests of the waves. “Music.”

His fingers trail over her arm- skin he had memorized and yet was somehow foreign; new territory to explore and relearn and discovery, a scientist’s dream and a husband’s sadness warring with themselves for which demanded to be felt fully. Janet felt the same tug, low in her gut- felt the sadness of losing Hope’s childhood to the fierce pride at the incredible woman she’d grown into in her absence.

“I missed music, and the way you’d put that terrible record on and we’d dance in the kitchen after Hope was in bed,” Janet’s lips quirk upwards at the memory; her bare feet on the cool hardwood floor, hands still damp from doing the dishes- Hank’s hands at her waist, the way he’d bury his face in her hair, fingers tugging at her shirt to pull it from her pants as she laughed, shaking her head in fondness. “I kept that memory safe. It kept me…me. When I needed it to.”

Hank’s fingers capture hers when her voice lowers in volume, reminding her gently that he was there, and Janet squeezes back as she exhales.

“About- a year,” Hank starts quietly, and Janet shifts slightly, a hand coming up to stroke over his cheek lightly. “After you disappeared. I found the record player in the dining room. And I just- I felt so lost without you, and Hope was at a friend’s house.”

Hank pauses, voice thick, and Janet’s fingers touch his neck gently; she can feel his pulse under her fingertips, loud and warm and vibrant.

“I smashed it to pieces because all I could think about was you and dancing in the kitchen and how I’d never have that back. I’d never have _you_ back,” he finally continues, something in his voice breaking, and Janet shifts upwards, turning so she can frame his face in her hands. Her eyes burn, blurring his face, and she blinks rapidly, dispelling the tears so she can see him clearly.

“But you do. I’m here. And I’m never leaving you again, Hank. _Never_ ,” she tells him firmly, but with enough tenderness he feels how much she loves him. “Wherever you go from now on, I go.”

Hank’s eyes search her for a few long moments, and then his hands are gently tugging and insistent, pulling her down until he can find her mouth with his. Janet sinks into it easily, and her dreams had never gotten this part quite right- never been able to recreate the warmth and love and desire that sparked within her at the feel of Hank touching her just the right way.

The next day, there is a brand new record player sitting on the dining room table- Janet still marvels at the speed of things these days, so different from the world she blinked out of- and an array of records. Hanks watches, a mixture of fondness and nervousness as she flicks through them before she gasps, pulling the last one apart from the rest and looking at him.

Their old record stands there- case ragged and worn, still with a nick on the outer rim from when Hope had dropped it.

“I could never throw this one out,” Hank confesses, soft and affectionate and Janet feels a wave of love wash over her, echoing the ocean she can hear outside the open window, crashing against the sand.

That’s the record she puts on, and she toes out of her sandals, barefoot on the sun-warmed hardwood, allowing Hank to pull her into his arms. They’re both older and grayer and different people than the last time they did this, but Janet still teases him when he misses a step and Hank still buries his face in her hair, fingers flirting with the waistband of her pale slacks as he sings terribly in her ear, pulling laughter from her.

It’s not exactly the same, not the mirror image Janet had imagined when she’d thought of the future, but more like a traced outline. Shadowy figures moving with as much grace as they could muster in the beach sunlight, filling the space with laughter and love and joy.

It’s more than she’d ever hoped for, and she clings to it with both hands, nails dug in.


End file.
